


Some Things That Glitter

by burymeinziam



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:46:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burymeinziam/pseuds/burymeinziam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which liam is making a shitty indie movie, zayn has no idea what he’s doing, harry is rich and doesn’t really give a shit, niall is sweet and hopelessly in love with harry, and louis is drinking and watching it all happen. </p><p>(or im really bad at summaries)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Things That Glitter

Harry fucks kind of like a porn star.

Not rough or overly passionate or in a way that has Zayn twisting and contorting his body into positions most people wouldn’t find humanly possible. Harry fucks kind of like a porn star in the sense that every move he makes is all for show.

Harry tosses his head back and moans loud and long as he hooks Zayn’s calves over his shoulders and grinds in deep.

He talks dirty, looking Zayn straight in the eye and smirking as he says “You like that, huh? Like it when I fuck you, don’t you, Zayn? Love the way my cock fills that tight little ass of yours.”

Harry makes a show of flipping Zayn onto his stomach and sliding his palms over sweat slicked sides and back down again before making Zayn yelp with a hard smack to his ass that leaves behind an angry red hand print. Then he’s lifting Zayn to his knees and guiding his cock back into Zayn’s hole as he pants out something filthy about filling Zayn up with his come.

Harry fucks kind of like a porn star like that.

It’s not great but it’s good and he gets the job done.

Plus it feels kind of good when Harry tenses up dramatically and his hips stutter and he’s shouting out a slew of “oh fucks” and “oh, God” and “Shit, Zayn, I’m coming” as he spills into the Trojan wrapped snug around his cock.

Zayn feels kind of good knowing that, even if most of it is a dramatization of the real thing, he was the one who made Harry feel that way.

That and the guaranteed blow job at the end of it all (because Harry has this habit of finishing embarrassingly quickly) makes it all worth it.

Harry is swallowing and wiping excess come from his mouth when he collapses on Zayn’s stomach, lolling his head to the side as he grins up at his best friend.

“That was nice,” he says, combing his fingers through unruly brown hair. Zayn thinks silently to himself that Harry should have gotten a haircut ages ago, but Harry thinks the disheveled look is in right now and he may or may not want to join Zayn on his quest in becoming a model so…

Zayn shrugs, breathing in deep and exhaling. Harry had pulled off a little before Zayn was done riding out his high, so while he feels boneless and sated he’s not completely satisfied. “Just tired now, I guess…”

Harry nods, traces the bold heart on Zayn’s hip with his fingertip. “Your jizz tasted kind of fruity.”

And Zayn laughs, causing Harry’s head to bounce a little with the rise and fall of his stomach. Harry pushes himself up, moving so his face is inches away from Zayn’s and he can see the bright green of Harry’s eyes and how young he is.

“Taste it,” he says, sticking his tongue out and giggling. “It was like pineapples and shit. Real tropical.”

Zayn pushes his face away and sits up because while he and Harry fuck, they don’t really kiss all that often. It’s too personal, he thinks, and getting naked together and feeling each other up is mostly done out of convenience.

“I don’t wanna taste my own spunk, Haz,” Zayn tells him as he swings his legs over the edge of Harry’s bed so he can pick up his underwear from where Harry had tossed them to the floor. “It’s probably my mom’s doing if you’re really curious though.”

Harry raises his brows, falling back onto the bed, bending one leg at the knee as he stretches his arms above his head. “Oh?”

Zayn turns back to look at him and can’t help the laugh that gets caught in the back of his throat because Harry looks so… simple and free. He’s lying there eyes closed with too much hair and this stupid grin on his face with those birds tattooed around his collar bones and that dumb ass butterfly-moth looking thing on his stomach and Zayn really couldn’t love him more.

“Yeah,” Zayn answers, pushing himself off the bed so he can begin the search for his jeans. “My mom started this all fruit diet because she wants to lose fifteen pounds before your sister’s wedding.”

“All fruit diet…” Harry repeats, cracking an eye.

Zayn nods. “Stupid right? All we have in the house is fucking apples and oranges and pineapples and shit. I asked Owen to pick up some other stuff when he went to the store next but he told me that mom gave him strict orders not to bring any unapproved food items into the house.” He finds his pants near the bedroom door and slips them on, fishing his phone out of the back pocket so he can check his text messages.

“Stupid,” Harry agrees, scratching at his stomach. “Can’t say it’s hurting me though. Makes your come taste better.”

Zayn rolls his eyes as he scrolls through his messages, scanning through the ones from a few guys from his modeling agency and one from his mother. “I doubt it tasted bad before,” he says. “And even if it did, no one ever told you that you had to swallow.”

Harry shrugs his shoulders as best as he can from where he’s lying on the bed. “True.” He pauses, cranes his neck a bit to look at Zayn. “What are you doing anyways? You in a rush to leave or something?”

 Zayn knows Harry isn’t offended and if Zayn decided to leave it would be perfectly okay, but it’s also Friday night and Zayn and Harry usually fool around for a few hours before heading out to a club downtown for drinks and dancing and they may or may not pick up a third party to bring back to Harry’s place if they’re feeling extra adventurous.

And if they’re not, Harry might call up Niall from the bridal shop and see if he wants to go out for waffles at that 24-hour diner on the other side of town that Harry finds quaint and simple because the waitresses keep pens behind their ears and the menus are laminated. He also likes that the kid’s menus are disposable and they come with crayons.

And then Harry might try and get Niall to fool around with him in the backseat of his Lexus because, while Harry likes Niall, he also likes Niall’s mouth and he’s been dying to find out what it would feel like to have it wrapped around his dick. 

But tonight that probably won’t be happening (at least not round two and the possibility of a round three with a third party) because Zayn’s got at text message from this guy, Louis, from the modeling agency about a short film and the director is supposedly meeting him at a bar in an hour and

_You should come. The guy says he’s looking for someone mysterious ;)_

“Kind of,” Zayn tells Harry, shoving his phone back into his pocket and picking up a shirt from the floor. It’s one of Harry’s. A navy blue button up that Zayn thinks looks a little gay but he can’t say that he really cares.

“Oh…” Harry actually takes the time to sit up now. “What happened?”

Zayn shrugs his shoulders, bends over to tie the laces on his boots. “Louis texted me. Wants me to meet this guy with him at a bar. Says he’s making a movie.”

Harry scoffs. “Louis.”

“Oh, come on, Harry. Louis’ alright.”

“He wants your dick. That’s the only reason he talks to you.”

“He’s straight, Harry. He has a girlfriend. They’re engaged.”

Harry rolls his eyes and combs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Because her parents own every Taco Bell under the fucking sun and his parents are greedy pricks who will go as far as to use their own son to get a slice of the cheese. That boy wouldn’t wanna touch a tit with a ten foot pole.”

Zayn knows Harry is right to a point, but he’s not really willing to admit it. It’s not that Louis is gay so much as he’s shown an obvious preference toward guys. Zayn really thinks Louis just likes people; likes their bodies and the way they make him feel. And, when he’s drunk enough, Zayn thinks Louis pretty much likes anything with a pulse as long as they were pretty.

“Whether or not Louis likes tacos or burritos is irrelevant,” Zayn says. “There’s a guy making a movie and I wanna fucking meet him so I’m leaving. End of story.”

Harry just grins because he knows that Zayn knows he’s right and that’s enough for him. He watches Zayn check over his appearance in the full length mirror on the back of his bedroom door knowing very well that Zayn is more than likely going to, at the very least, fix himself up again in his car or in the employee bathroom at that overpriced coffee shop where that barista he fucked two weeks ago works at.

“Just hurry up and go, will you?” Harry asks. “I’m thinking about calling Niall and I don’t want you here when I do it.”

Zayn sighs, grabs his jacket from the top of Harry’s dresser, and gives his best friend the finger as he closes the bedroom door on his way out.

\--

Liam found Louis to be off putting and more than a little on the pretentious side, but he was never dull and his girlfriend’s parents were paying for his movie.

Louis wanted to be a model even though he was too short and didn’t really have the build or preferable body type. He wanted to make movies and walk down red carpets and give acceptance speeches for awards he didn’t know much about but wanted to set on top of his mantle

“—or maybe I’ll get a bookshelf for them? Or a trophy room that doubles as a theater, yeah? With posters from all my films. And you could watch recordings of the fashion shows too, you know, so it wouldn’t be just films. It would be films and fashion and maybe I could dabble in music too. Wouldn’t that be cool? I want to do it all.”

Liam nods his head and finishes of his beer, already wishing he had another. Unfortunately for him, though, he has to drive himself home and he wants to be at least partially sober when this Zayn character from Louis’ agency shows up.

He’s supposed to be tall dark and handsome. Some kid with a

“face carved by angels, I’ll tell you,” Louis says.

But Liam can’t be too sure because everything that comes out of Louis’ mouth smells like bullshit. Louis had nudged his shoulder, though, about thirty minutes back, and said something about wishing Zayn would just give in and fuck him already because he knows they both want it.

“But that’s just between you and me, right?” Louis clarified with a wink of his eye.

Liam doesn’t say anything about Louis casually mentioning he’d be willing to cheat on his girlfriend, but it does bring him a little comfort knowing that Louis would fuck this guy because Louis struck Liam as being picky about who he’d be willing to take his clothes off for. 

“Zayn should be here any minute,” Louis says, taking a sip from the margarita he’d ordered. “I swear he’s always running late, but I guess it’s just because he spends so much time keeping himself pretty, you know? As a model we always have to be ready for anything. I mean, the agency could call at literally any time and we’d have to be ready for – oh! There he is over there in the – wow that is a hideous fucking button up what was Zayn even thinking?”

Liam turns, following Louis’ eye and sees a thin boy around his age with dark, wind-blown hair, rolling up the sleeves of a navy button-up decorated with little white hearts. The shirt seems out of place with the ripped jeans and the leather jacket, but Liam doesn’t know much about fashion so he doesn’t think much of it.

The only thing he can really focus on is Zayn’s face and the fact that he’s absolutely gorgeous.

“Zayn!”

Louis climbs out of his chair as Zayn approaches their table, swinging an arm over the other boy’s shoulders and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Zayn smiles politely in return offering a “hey, mate” before turning his attention to Liam.

“Liam, this is Zayn, Zayn this is Liam,” Louis says, gesturing between the two.

“Nice to meet you,” Liam says, extending his hand.

Zayn takes it, nodding in response. “Yeah.”

There’s a brief moment where Liam just stares because, really, Louis hadn’t been lying when he’d said that Zayn had a face carved by angels. Liam couldn’t take his eyes off of him even when Zayn began to fidget under Liam’s gaze, glancing between Louis and the empty seat next to Liam and wondering if he should move.

“Stop staring at him, will you?” Louis jokes, swatting Liam’s arm.

Liam feels his face heat up and picks up his empty beer bottle. He starts to take a sip and then remembers he’d finished it off before Zayn even arrived and sets it back on the table. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I just… I was just looking because, well, you fit.”

“I… fit?” Zayn repeats, moving to take a seat at the table.

Liam nods. “The part,” he says. “George?”

Zayn shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders because he has no idea what Liam is talking about. “Louis mentioned a movie, but I don’t know anything else.”

“I figured you’d want to tell him all about it,” Louis explains.

“Oh, okay then,” Liam says, looking to Zayn with a friendly smile. He feels comfortable now that he’s gotten the opportunity to talk about something he knows about. “The movie is called Man-in-a-Box. It’s about this guy named George Whitaker and he finds this jack-in-the-box toy at a yard sale and decides to buy it for his nephew because he has no kids and the toy reminds him of his childhood. So he buys the thing and he takes it home and wraps it up real nice – because it’s his nephew’s birthday soon and they’re having a party – but when he goes to take it to the kid he gets a phone call and, as it turns out, George’s brother’s house had caught on fire and everyone had died. So no toy for junior and now poor George has a dead family.”

“That’s… terrible,” Zayn says slowly, leaning his elbows on the table and wishing he had a drink.

“I know,” Liam says excitedly. “But it gets better. So now George is pretty fucking distraught because basically everyone he loved is dead. He never really had any friends and now he has no family. He’s alone and all he has is this stupid jack-in-the-box, so that becomes his friend. George talks to it and stuff and he believes the jack-in-the-box talks to him too. But then George meets this girl and he falls in love with her and the jack-in-the-box doesn’t like it and it tells George and George feels conflicted because he loves the girl but the jack-in-the-box was his only friend when he really needed it and he owes him. But he decides to choose the girl because he thinks the jack-in-the-box would understand and they could all be friends together, you know?”

Zayn smiles tightly, nods his head. “Yeah,” he says. “Totally.”

“But Jack-in-the-box isn’t having it and he magically becomes sentient and kills George’s girlfriend and then kills George too for betraying him and that’s the end.”

Liam drums his fingers against the table as he waits for a response from Zayn who is chewing on his bottom lip and fishing for what seems to be a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket. When he finds them he turns to Liam, removing a cigarette from the pack and lighting it up.

“That’s… wow,” he says. “That’s a story.”

It’s fucking terrible is what Zayn wants to say, but Liam is cute and he doesn’t have the heart.

“Yeah. I think it says a lot, you know? About people. How we place value on inanimate objects and they take hold of us and control us and ultimately lead to our demise.”

Louis nods. “Deep isn’t it?”

A waiter stops by and Zayn orders a rum and coke, Liam gets another beer and Louis smiles flirtatiously and orders another margarita.

“It’ll make a statement,” Zayn says once the waiter leaves. “That’s for sure.”

“I think you’d be perfect for George. He’s kind of quiet and mysterious and he just has this look about him and you have that look, I think. Of course, I’d have you come in for a screen test just to be sure, but I have a feeling you’re it.”

And it’s true. Zayn just has this way about him that is quiet and a bit calculated, kind of like he’s removed from the world without being extricated completely. That and the fact that Liam really would like the opportunity to see Zayn on a daily basis pretty much makes him want to hand Zayn the script and ask him when he can begin filming.

“You should take it,” Louis says, swirling his finger around the rim of his empty margarita glass. “I’m voicing the jack-in-the-box, so we’ll get to work together.”

Zayn’s smile is tight and forced upon hearing Louis’ words and Liam is sure everything is ruined because, honestly, working with Louis Tomlinson for up to ten hours a day a few days a week isn’t exactly ideal. But then the waiter is coming back with their drinks and Zayn is taking a gulp of his own followed by a drag off the cigarette situated between his fingers and he’s looking at Liam with an expression Liam can’t quite place.

Zayn nods. “Sure,” he says. “Why not.”

“Yeah?” Liam says.

Zayn shrugs his shoulders. “Could be fun.”

“Yeah and Ellie’s parents said they might be able to get it into Sundance too,” Louis says. “So there’s that to think about as well. You know how many actors make it big after Sundance, Zayn? Tons.”

Liam isn’t sure about Sundance but he hopes. He looks at Zayn and he imagines going to the festival with him in tow probably wearing something sleek and fashionable designed by some name Liam would never be able to dream of pronouncing while Liam stands next to him in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, maybe even tossing on a flannel to dress things up a bit.

Zayn catches Liam staring again, but this time his smile is genuine and he smirks as he lifts his glass to his lips and takes a sip.

“Yeah, Louis,” Zayn says, glancing briefly at Louis before returning his attention to Liam. “Tons.”

\--

Niall’s phone rings around ten thirty and he can’t help the smile that breaks out onto his face when he sees the picture he’d taken of Harry the previous weekend light up on his screen. It’s stupid and he knows it because it’s kind of obvious that Harry is seeing other people and Niall isn’t the only one (he’s probably not even at the top of Harry’s list of possibilities), but Harry gives him butterflies and he’s funny and free and Niall thinks that if he plays his cards right it could be love.

Or something like it. Maybe.

(Probably not, but Niall kind of enjoys entertaining the idea.)

“Harry,” he says upon answering.

“Niall,” Harry returns. His voice sounds lazy, like he’s been lying in bed all day. Niall wonders if that’s the case and, if it is, who had been with him.

“How are you?”

Harry laughs. “Tired? Happy? Lonely? Take your pick.”

“How can you be happy and lonely at the same time?” Niall asks him, fiddling with a loose string on the end of the sleeve of his shirt.

“I don’t know. Zayn left me here alone a little over an hour ago, but I was still kind of horny so I jacked off for a bit. I’m feeling pretty good now, but I’m also kind of lonely so…”

It’s one of the things Niall likes most about Harry, how honest he is about everything, but it’s also one of the things he can’t stand because there are things Niall would rather not know or hear about. Niall doesn’t need to know that Harry was probably fucking Zayn or that guy who works the bar at that night club, Demure, on Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday nights. He doesn’t care about the long list of guys that Harry has wined and dined and all the other poor, naïve boys just like him who have fallen for Harry’s charm and his boyish good looks.

“Oh,” Niall says, tearing the loose end from his shirt and tossing it onto his bedroom floor. It gets lost somewhere in the carpet and Niall feels envious; wants to hide away like that too and forget this phone call ever happened.

“You should come over.”

“Why?” Niall asks. It’s a dumb idea to even bother because Niall knows no matter what Harry says he’s going to climb into the Nissan his parents had bought him for his eighteenth birthday two years ago and drive over to Harry’s house. He knows he’s going to knock on the door and Harry’s butler is going to answer and tell him that

“Mr. Styles is waiting for you in his bedroom.”

And Niall will thank him, feeling inadequate in a pair of jeans and a tank-top he’d found in a thrift shop, before climbing the stairs and making the familiar trip down the obnoxiously long hall to Harry’s bedroom.

But he wants to hear it anyways. He wants to hear Harry say it because somehow hearing the words from Harry’s mouth makes it all worth it.

“Because I miss you, Niall. That’s why.”

Niall is putting on his shoes and scanning the bedroom for his jacket before the words make it all the way past Harry’s lips.

\--

There’s a box of Ritz crackers and a cheese plate sitting next to giant bowl filled with cherry Kool-Aid and Zayn figures that’s the snack table. He’d expected something fancier, something high class, considering Ellie’s parents were paying for the movie and they’re sort of like Louis when it comes to wanting and needing the finer things in life.

Then again, it could be that they really don’t care. Liam isn’t really anyone important as far as they’re concerned. He’s just some kid who picked up their daughter and her strung out fiancé on the side of the road when they’d run out of gas at three in their morning on their way home from some club out in the city.

“Nice guy, Liam is,” Louis had told him. “If I wasn’t dating Ellie I’d totally…” Louis had winked, nudging Zayn with his elbow. “You know…”

If he’s being honest, he’d expected something more professional. He’d expected the set up to be somewhere like a large warehouse or an empty studio lot Ellie’s parents had managed to get their hands on via a few called-in favors. Zayn hadn’t been expecting an empty one bedroom apartment twenty miles out from the dress shop that Niall kid works at. It’s kind of shitty and the outside smelled faintly of cat piss and Zayn is kind of worried about his car parked outside.

Nobody is there when he walks in though. The living room is empty aside from the make-shift catering table and Zayn is beginning to wonder how legitimate this movie really is. Eleanor’s Taco Bell owning family or not, nobody really knows this Liam character that well and Louis has this tendency to think with his dick over his brain and for all Zayn knows he could have just stepped onto the set of a porno.

But then he hears the toilet flush somewhere down the hall and a few moments later, Liam is rounding the corner, wiping his hands off on a towel.

 “You made it.”

“I told you I was coming,” Zayn replies with a shrug, immediately feeling a pang of guilt deep in his chest. Looking at Liam now, Zayn doesn’t even know how he could have believed that was the face of a sketchy porno director. He ducks his head and gathers his thoughts before allowing his eyes to briefly scan the rest of the apartment. “The set is uh… quaint.”

Liam sighs, rubs a hand over his hair as his cheeks fill with color. “Yeah, well… I mean I do what I can, I guess. Eleanor’s parents are paying and I don’t really want to take advantage so…”

“They own like every Taco Bell in the world,” Zayn says. “I’m sure they wouldn’t notice if you got actual food for the set.”

Liam laughs. “Are you laughing at my cheese and crackers?”

Zayn finds himself grinning, glancing back at the table before looking back to Liam from the corner of his eye. “I don’t know…” he answers. “The one I had tasted kind of stale…”

And Zayn would say he was flirting if he didn’t know any better. But he does and he knows he would never go for a guy like Liam. Liam is normal and he makes shitty movies and he’s _nice._ He’s the type of guy who picks up random strangers from the side of the road and drives them to a home that is probably miles out of the way of wherever he’d been heading that night. Liam tries to make bold statements about society through jack-in-the-boxes and he drinks cheap beer and he looks at Zayn like he wants to take him on a date to Red Lobster or Olive Garden.

But that also makes him so different from the rest of the pretentious, rich assholes that manage to get Zayn into bed with them. Guys like Louis who feel entitled to pretty much anything they want to get their hands on and figure that an overpriced dinner and a raspberry martini is payment enough for a night with Zayn’s body with no strings attached.

And most of the time it is because Zayn really isn’t looking for anything more, but he has to admit that it’s kind of nice to have someone look at him like he actually matters; like he’s something to be appreciated. Zayn can’t help but to think that it’s nice to have Liam look at him like he actually wants to know who he is.

“Um…” Zayn starts, avoiding Liam’s heavy gaze. He coughs once, then twice, just to give himself something to do. “The uh… screen test, right?”

Liam nods, a knowing smile on his lips. “Yeah,” he says, taking Zayn’s hand and leading him to the other side of the living room where he has a tripod set up, the camera facing the blank white of the wall. “Over here.”

Zayn’s hand is tingling in Liam’s, sending shockwaves up and down his arms. His palms feel warm and he hopes Liam doesn’t notice the way they’re beginning to sweat. It’s so unlike him because most of the time Zayn doesn’t even care. He doesn’t really care what guys think of him aside from whether or not he’s good looking and – as cocky as it may seem – Zayn really doesn’t think his level of attractiveness is much of an issue.

But Liam is making him nervous and Zayn really only wants to say the right things, maybe figure out what makes Liam laugh and whether or not he likes ketchup or barbecue sauce with his fries or if he even likes sauce at all.

“So,” Liam begins, bending over to grab something out of the backpack sitting next to the tripod on the floor. While he’s searching, Zayn can’t help but to look at the curve of Liam’s ass in his jeans and he thinks that maybe the fact that he really wants to fuck this kid is playing into his nerves.

That could be it too.

“Ah!” Liam nearly shouts, victorious, as he rights himself and hands Zayn a few stapled sheets of paper. “Test script. It’s just a short scene from the film where George first starts talking to the jack-in-the-box.”

“Okay…” Zayn says glancing down at the papers in his hands reading over the title _Man-in-a-Box: The Story of George Whitaker_ and then _a film written and directed by Liam Payne_. He looks back up at Liam. “You want me to read from this?”

Liam nods. “Yeah. Just uh… stand in front of the wall there? I’ll film from here and read from Louis’ parts when you need it. Just… do what you want with it, you know? Creative freedom and all that.”

Zayn moves to stand in front of the wall. He feels nervous all of the sudden which is odd because being captured on film isn’t exactly anything new for him. He takes pictures all the time, has people he hardly knows looking at him naked and criticizing his every imperfection. Standing in front of Liam and reading a few lines from a sheet of paper shouldn’t be an issue at all, especially considering the fact that he basically already has the part. But a part of Zayn wants to impress Liam, make him like him. He wants Liam to want him because he’s good, not because he’s pretty and mysterious looking. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” Liam says.

Zayn swallows the heavy lump in his throat and nods. “Yeah, okay. I’m good.”

Liam grins and hits record. “Screen test, Zayn Malik. Take One.”

\--

Harry liked Niall because he told Gemma that the first wedding gown she tried on made her look frumpy.

“It’s the sleeves,” Niall explained. “My mom likes them because they remind her of the eighties – She says they’re ‘vintage’ – but they really just make your arms look big.”

Gemma made this really angry noise in the back of her throat and stared at herself in the mirror for a few long moments before heaving a sigh and telling Niall that he was probably right.

“Maybe I’ll go strapless,” she said, picking up the skirt of her dress, stepping away from the mirrors, and going to look at more gowns.

Harry stayed put on the sofa, his mother off somewhere scouring the store for more dresses Gemma probably wouldn’t like, and flicked through his phone wearing this pleased smile on his face that he knew was making Niall want to kiss him.

“You have a way with words,” Harry said looking up from his phone and sliding it into his back pocket. “If I’d have told her that her arms looked fat in that dress she would have smacked me.”

Niall had shrugged, blushing. “You’re also her little brother.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry said. “Well it does and it doesn’t. My being related to her is unrelated to the fact that you have a way with words.”

“It’s just because I work in a dress shop,” Niall explained in an attempt to avoid the compliment and any further reddening of his face. “You gotta know how to help people feel good about themselves, I guess.”

“And you know how to do that?” Harry asked.

“Do what?”

“Make people feel good about themselves.”

Harry may have been a few good feet away from Niall from where he was sitting on the couch, but the way Harry was looking at him made Niall feel like there were only centimeters separating them; like Harry was crowding his space and making Niall feel as though he were absolutely everywhere.

“I – I guess so?”

Harry stood up, shoved his hands into his pockets and took a few steps closer toward Niall. Not too close, but close enough to get his point across because this Niall kid was cute and nervous and innocent and Harry just knew that the minute he got him to crawl out of his shell, Niall was going to be a riot.

“Then maybe you can help me out too,” he said. “I’m not looking for a wedding dress, but I wouldn’t mind feeling a little better than I do right now.”

And Niall does. Niall makes Harry feel fantastic. He makes Harry feel powerful and strong and he’s so _trusting_. Harry is pretty sure he could tell Niall to jump from the roof of a ten story building and Niall would only ask when and where.

Niall looks at Harry like he created the earth in six days and rested on the seventh so he could wake on the eighth looking as though he were sculpted by angels in heaven and maybe that makes Harry a dick, but he can’t help but to want to take advantage of that fact.

They’re lying around in Harry’s room, Harry’s head pillowed in Niall’s lap as he tries to figure out a way to finally get into Niall’s pants. Niall has been pretty adamant about the fact that he doesn’t want to sleep with Harry unless they’re in a committed relationship.

“I like monogamy,” Niall had told him, blushing as he pushed Harry’s hands away from the button and zip of his jeans one night in the backseat of Harry’s car.

“Monogamy,” Harry repeated. “As in like one-on-one and that’s it?”

Niall nodded, laughing softly at the furrow in Harry’s brow as he tried to wrap his mind around the idea of being with just one person. Harry liked freedom and spontaneity and doing whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. It wasn’t just the idea of sex with one person that bothered him so much as the restriction and minimization of his options.

“It’s not that bad,” 

“For you,” Harry said with a laugh, moving to bury his face into Niall’s stomach and wondering what is was about that boy that made him so special.

Now, Niall is running through Harry’s messy mop of brown curls asking what it is he’s thinking about because Harry is never this quiet.

“Fucking you,” Harry tells him cheekily.

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?” Niall counters, nudging Harry’s head to the side so he can get a better look at his face.

Harry shrugs, grinning. He isn’t sure when Niall got so comfortable, had switched from being all stuttery and shy to being something reminiscent of his old self but also a tad more confident. “Maybe,” Harry answers. “For the next few hours if that’s okay with you.”

Niall frowns, swatting Harry on the shoulder and falling backwards onto the bed. Harry passes it off as fond exasperation, but Niall is beginning to feel sort of cheap and worthless. He feels like a plaything or a conquest of sorts instead of like a boy Harry actually wants to spend time with.

Harry slides a hand under Niall’s shirt, splaying his fingers over pale skin and feeling the soft hairs starting around his navel that trail downward beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Stop it,” Niall says, stilling Harry’s hand. “I’m not – I’m not in the mood for this, Harry. Not now.”

“We don’t have to fuck, you know,” Harry tells him. “I could blow you or you could blow me or maybe we could even just touch each other a bit.”

Niall groans, rolling onto his side. “No, Harry,” he says and he feels like shit because he should have known this was the only reason Harry invited him over. Niall actually had known this was the only reason, but he’s stupid and he’d shown up anyways. It’s one of the many reasons Niall both adored and hated Harry. He was just so goddamned infectious.

Niall feels Harry’s weight shift on the bed and then it’s pretty much gone altogether. When he turns back over, Harry is sitting on the edge running his hands through his hair and heaving out a sigh. “Fine,” he says, craning his neck to look back at Niall. “If you don’t wanna fool around we can at least watch a shitty teen movie and you can pretend to get annoyed at me while I’m trying to cop a feel.”

And Niall grins because while he hates Harry, he really does love him all the same.

\--

If Liam were to be completely honest, he’d have to say Zayn wouldn’t be able to act if his life depended on it. He has these moments where Liam thinks Zayn is really feeling the character and the emotional turmoil he’s being put through due to the loss of his family, but then Zayn suddenly becomes detached and lost and every line feels as though it’s being read from a piece of paper.

Which it is because Zayn hasn’t even managed to memorize any of his lines.

“Zayn,” Liam says from behind the camera. Zayn is sitting on the couch next to the jack-in-the-box Liam had picked up from the toy store a few days later, Louis delivering lines from where he’s hidden behind the couch.

“Hmm?” Zayn answers. “Something wrong?”

Liam sighs and drags a hand over his face. “Yeah, um, I just – this isn’t working.”

“Not… working,” Zayn repeats. “Not working how?”

“Do you… what do you think this scene is about?”

Zayn shifts in his seat, pushing the jack-in-the-box aside and turning to get a better look at Liam’s face Louis groans from behind the couch and says something about this taking too long.

“Well,” Zayn answers. “I’m talking to the jack-in-the-box. George is beginning to form some sort of bond with the thing because it’s the only connection he has to his family.”

Liam nods. “Yeah… I’m not feeling that though.”

Zayn furrows his brow. He looks to the toy and then back at Liam. “I’m not sure…”

“There’s a disconnect between you and the toy.”

Zayn wants to laugh. His lips twitch, but he fights the urge to smile just to spare Liam’s feelings because, despite the fact that he thinks this whole idea is completely preposterous he still likes the kid. Zayn knows exactly what Liam is talking about, but he also doesn’t understand how he’s supposed to form a bond with a jack-in-the-box Liam had picked up from a toy store. There is no connection. This toy is not Zayn’s friend and it certainly isn’t the only thing Zayn has left in the world.

“I’m not sure how to fix that,” Zayn says. “I mean… I’m delivering the lines and the toy – or Louis – is talking back to me and… I mean, what else is there?”

Liam sighs and, once again, Louis groans from where he’s now lying behind the couch. “Just make love to the fucking toy, Zayn, Jesus. All the little boys and girls are going to be searching for homoerotic subtext between you and the thing anyways. Give the kiddies what they want.”

“No, no, no,” Liam says, holding his hands out. “I just… that’s not what I want. I need – maybe we need to talk about this more.”

There’s a pause where Liam is just standing next to the camera, deep in thought, and Zayn is sitting on the couch and Louis Is lying on the floor making these sounds of complete and total annoyance in the back of his throat. Zayn can’t help but to feel a little shitty for disappointing Liam. The movie may be a fucking joke in Zayn’s honest opinion, but Liam loves it. Liam is proud of it and Zayn finds that sort of endearing and it only makes him like Liam even more.

And Zayn kind of still just wants Liam to like him too.

“Okay,” Liam says, clapping his hands together. “We’re done for today.”

“Done?” Louis says poking his head up from behind the couch.

“Done,” Liam confirms. “Well, sort of. I just… Zayn,” he directs his gaze to where Zayn is still seated a few feet from the jack-in-the-box. “Would you mind getting coffee with me or something? So we can talk a little more about the film?”

Louis raises his brows at the invitation, a knowing smile forming on his lips. “Oh… I see where this is going.”

Liam rolls his eyes, ignoring Louis’ comment and focuses on Zayn, waiting for an answer.

Zayn shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, sure.”

There isn’t much left to do other than leave the set, so Liam nods and starts packing up his camera. Louis stands up from behind the couch, dusting off his pants and clapping a hand on Zayn’s shoulder. “I want details the next time I see you,” he says.

Zayn snorts. “Details? About what? I’m not fucking him, Lou.”

“Maybe not yet…” Louis raises his waggles his eyebrows.

Zayn starts to protest, but then catches a glimpse of Liam wrapping up a few chords for his camera. It would be a lie if he were to say he didn’t want to get Liam alone just so he could discover what the boy was hiding under those T-shirts and jeans, but it isn’t as if that’s the only thing he’s focused on. Louis would never believe him, but Zayn actually wants to get to know Liam.

“No…” Zayn says. “But… I don’t know. I’m just not fucking him. That’s all I can say.”

“I’m just saying,” Louis glances knowingly over toward Liam, then back at Zayn. “When you do…”

And then he’s patting Zayn on the shoulder and adding on something about calling him later if he wants to hook up for “drinks or a nightcap or, you know, whatever.” Zayn rolls his eyes at Louis’ parting words and crosses his legs while he waits for Liam to finish up.

“He’s something isn’t he?” Liam asks.

“You could say that,” Zayn responds with a slight chuckle.

“He likes you.” Liam doesn’t say it like he’s jealous, just like it’s a fact. Which it is.

“Louis likes everybody.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Louis likes you.”

Zayn doesn’t miss the blush that floods Liam’s cheeks as he ducks his head, laughs nervously as he places his camera into his bag. “I don’t… I don’t know about that.”

“Doesn’t matter though,” Zayn says, pushing himself up from the couch when he sees that Liam is finished packing up his things. “He knows it wouldn’t go anywhere.”

Liam swings his backpack over his shoulder and leads Zayn to the front door of the apartment. He ushers him out, following Zayn out into the hallway and locks the door behind them. “We can take my car, if you want, or you can follow me in yours?” He says. “And what do you mean he knows it wouldn’t go anywhere.”

“We can take yours. I rode with Louis,” Zayn says. And then, “And I’m just saying he knows you’re not that type of guy.”

Liam takes a moment to think over Zayn’s words as he leads the way down the hall, climbing down the stairs at the end and turning the corner into the parking garage. “What type of guy is that?” He asks, turning back briefly to look at Zayn as he fishes his keys from his pocket.

Zayn shrugs. “Nice, I guess.” When he sees Liam’s confused expression, Zayn laughs and shakes his head. “It’s not a bad thing it’s just… Louis isn’t – I don’t know. He doesn’t do nice guys. They care too much.”

Liam doesn’t miss the way Zayn looks at him, like he’s speaking more than just for Louis. He’s looking at Liam like he’s wishing he weren’t so nice or like he’s trying to figure out if that even matters. “And what about you?” Liam finds himself asking before he has the chance to stop himself. They’re at a standstill in the parking garage, Liam holding onto his keys, his thumb hovering on the button that will unlock the doors to his car.

“Me?” Zayn asks.

“Yeah,” Liam says, tilting his head to the side with an easy smile. “Do you do nice guys?”

It sounds stupid and cheesy, kind of like something out of one of those overrated romantic comedies that Liam sometimes finds him watching at three in the morning when he’s annoyed and awake and with nothing to do. But he really wants to know.

“No,” Zayn says with a smile and it’s kind of sad and a little disappointed, but also kind of hopeful; like he’s thinking he could change his mind. Then he shakes his head, laughs at himself a little before looking back at Liam. “I do guys like Harry styles.”

\--

Zayn has known Harry his entire life, it seems. Their fathers work together, their mothers drink together and Harry and Zayn play together. That’s the way it’s always been.

Zayn loves Harry like a brother for the most part, if “like a brother” means something along the lines of that best friend you’ve always had that you sometimes fuck when things get lonely and you don’t feel like the complications of a drunken hook up at the bar.

Harry is good for that and he’s easy and he’s fun and they love each other and that’s all that really matters in Zayn’s mind.

There’s nothing complicated about Harry except for the fact that he’s all over the place and never knows what he wants. One minute Harry wants to travel the world and ride camels and swim with dolphins and climb Mount Everest and the next he wants to be a rock star riding around in tour buses and fucking models and groupies in moderately expensive hotel rooms. Sometimes Harry thinks he wants to try modeling like Zayn or even acting or maybe Harry wants to make movies himself and be a director.

“I could do porn,” Harry says with a laugh one day. “Everyone knows I’ve got the body and the stamina and getting paid to fuck all day can’t be too bad.”

“Like you need the money,” Zayn tells him with a scoff. “And most of the guys in that business are assholes or depressed or just… no, Harry. You don’t need to be a porn star. Stick to fucking people for dinner or drinks.”

“Or I could just fuck you,” Harry says and his eyes are bright and green and open in a way that they only ever get when he’s with Zayn.

Zayn breathes in heavy and exhales, smiling warmly at Harry. He doesn’t even try to hide the blood that rushes to his cheeks. “That too.”

Sometimes Zayn wonders if he’s in love with his best friend, if all the meaningless sex is as meaningless as Zayn tries to make it seem. He wonders if there is something in the way Harry touches him and the way Zayn touches him back; if the fact that Harry makes him feel fuller and so much more alive than all the other boys who smile at him and call him pretty.

Because Harry doesn’t even do that, not really. Harry looks at Zayn and says he’s gorgeous, but far too conceited for his own good.

“No one is as pretty as you make yourself out to be,” Harry tells him with a laugh before attaching his lips to the straw dipped into his Frappuccino.

Zayn scoffs because Harry is still looking at him like he’s one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. “Then why are you looking at me like that?” He asks, folding his arms over his chest.

“Because you’re fucking gorgeous, that’s why,” Harry tells him, says it like it should be obvious.

And Zayn laughs because they know it isn’t true. That Zayn isn’t as conceited as Harry had just claimed him to be. They both know that, for Zayn, the attention can get irritating and that sometimes Zayn would like to be treated like a person rather than some piece of meat waiting to be devoured.

Zayn smiles and shoves Harry playfully in the shoulder because that’s kind of what he does.

Zayn thinks things could be so easy with Harry. They’ve always been comfortable and carefree and they don’t really care about what the other one is doing as long as they have each other. Harry’s a pretty good shag and he basically just gets Zayn in a way that no one else really does.

Zayn gets lonely, lying in bed at night (sometimes with Harry, others not) and wonders why he’s never even bothered with trying. They’ve been fucking and dancing around one another for so long Zayn thinks it’s kind of ridiculous that they’ve never slapped a label on it.

Zayn thinks about it and he wonders and it scares him.  Being with Harry like that; committing to Harry and loving him and allowing Harry to be his end all. It’s fucking scary because Zayn doesn’t really do that; he never has.

And neither does Harry. Harry doesn’t do feelings. He’s kind of a dick, actually. He strings people along and files them away until he decides he wants to pull them out again. Harry does that with Niall and that barista from the coffee shop and even Zayn.

Zayn can see the way Niall looks at Harry. Niall looks at Harry like he hung the fucking moon in the sky, like he’s Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel. Niall looks at Harry the way Zayn is beginning to wish people looked at him, the way Zayn wants to look at someone else.

And then Zayn is walking in the parking garage with Liam, casually talking about Louis and exactly why he wouldn’t fuck Liam and dancing around this obvious attraction they have toward one another and Liam has to go and ask Zayn if he does nice guys.

 _Nice guys_ , Zayn thinks.

Nice guys like Liam who look at Zayn like he sort of matters, like he’s more than just pretty and mysterious and rich.

Nice guys who write and direct shitty movies, but are totally and completely beautiful because they believe in what they’re doing so much.

Nice guys like Liam who Zayn wants, but doesn’t think he deserves because he just doesn’t know how.

 _Nice guys,_ Zayn thinks and he can’t help but laugh because the answer is so obviously no.

“No,” Zayn says. “I do guys like Harry styles.”

\--

“Tell me about yourself,” Liam says, his hands wrapped around a warm mug of hot chocolate. He’s sitting across from Zayn in one of those tiny cafes that sell a little bit of anything and everything.

Zayn shrugs his shoulders. “Not much to tell, really.”

“There’s always something to tell,” Liam pushes. “Dreams, silly habits that you’ve always wanted to quit, favorite movies, TV shows, music, that one girl or guy you always fancied during high school.”

Zayn sighs, combs his fingers through his hair as he takes a quick sweep of the café. When he returns his attention back to Liam, the other boy is still staring at him, expecting an answer.

“I don’t know,” Zayn says. “I um… I model, I guess. Sort of. Not seriously just to kill time and give myself something to do so I’m not lying around the house spending my family’s money all the time.”

“Do you like it?”

“I guess. Like I said, it’s mostly just something to do”

Liam hums and sips from his mug of hot chocolate. Zayn isn’t particularly fond of the knowing smile on Liam’s lips but he doesn’t say anything about it; just waits for Liam to spur on the conversation.

“It’s always been easy for you, hasn’t it?” Liam asks. The question is spiteful or anything. It’s just a question, like Liam honestly wants to know.

Zayn still isn’t sure if he likes it though. He doesn’t like the subconscious assumption behind it that Zayn just knows Liam is making. That Zayn is just some kid from a rich family who always gets what he wants. Nice guy or not, Zayn doesn’t want Liam to think of him like that.

“No,” Zayn says defiantly, avoiding Liam’s gaze.

Liam laughs, pushing his mug to the side and craning his neck in an attempt to get Zayn to look at him. “It’s not really a good or a bad thing, Zayn. It’s just a fact.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “But I know what you’re thinking.”

“And what’s that?”

“That I’m some pretentious rich kid who doesn’t do fuck all except party and drink and take pretty pictures for a living. You probably think I hang around kids like Louis all day laughing and fucking and pretending like nothing else in the world matters unless it somehow affects me.”

Liam’s smile is smug when he shakes his head. “No,” he says. “That’s not what I’m thinking at all.”

 Zayn raises his brows. He wasn’t expecting Liam to agree with him, but he wasn’t expecting this response either. “Oh,” Zayn replies. “Then what are you thinking?”

Liam leans back in his seat, eyeing Zayn with a curious expression the other boy can’t quite place. “In all honesty,” Liam tells him. “I think you’re just bored.”

\--

Liam is kind of an enigma. As time goes by, Zayn isn’t sure of how to place him because Liam looks at Zayn like he wants to give him the world, but he also looks as Zayn as though he wants to shove him up against the wall and fuck him until he can hardly remember his first name, let alone his last. Zayn is quickly learning that Liam is more than just “nice” and he isn’t sure how to feel about that.

It would be easy if they weren’t caught up in this dance where they pretend as though nothing is happening when in fact Zayn is in a perpetual back and forth of wanting to push Liam away and kiss him until his brain turns to mush and he can’t feel anything other than the slick slide of Liam’s lips against his own.

It would be so much easier if Zayn didn’t care.

But he does and he can’t get it out of his head that Liam thinks he’s just bored. He cares that Liam can take one look at him and read him so easily because Zayn doesn’t like being so transparent.

They’re on set and Zayn is getting ready to leave after filming a scene with this girl Liam knew from high school who is playing his love interest in the movie. She’s nice enough, but she Zayn thinks she talks too much between takes and he’s sort of glad when she swings he bag over her shoulder and calls out a final farewell.

Liam is sneaking glances at Zayn like he wants to say something but is debating on whether or not he wants to speak the words out loud. It’s been going on for the past few minutes and Zayn could have already been out the front door, but the curiosity is killing him and he wants to know what Liam has to say.

Leaning against the arm rest of the couch in the living room, Zayn flicks through his phone sneaking glances at Liam who is sneaking glances at him. He lips stretch into an easy grin – something that has been happening more often than not while in Liam’s present – when he catches Liam’s eye.

“See something you like, Liam?” Zayn finds himself asking, and he really couldn’t be any more obvious.

Liam shrugs. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“I don’t know,” Liam answers, standing up straight and shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he crosses the room the join Zayn at the couch. “I kinda want to take you out.”

Zayn raises his brows. “Take me out,” he repeats.

Liam nods. “Yeah. Like on a date.”

Zayn starts to open his mouth but snaps it shut before he can say anything. He wasn’t expecting this, but then again Zayn isn’t sure what to expect from Liam anymore. One moment Liam is shy and reserved and blushing whenever Zayn so much as offers up a compliment and the next he’s eyeing Zayn like he’s a tall glass of water and Liam has been lost in the desert for the past year and half.

When Zayn doesn’t answer right away, the smile Liam had been wearing when he’d asked fades and his expression becomes somewhat uncertain and he’s backtracking and rubbing a hand over his hair as he stumbles over his words. “Unless you know – I’m sorry, that’s probably inappropriate considering… you know what? Forget I asked, okay?”

“No,” Zayn says all too quickly before he can catch himself. He feels nervous, like his cheeks are warming up and Zayn is sure he hasn’t blushed this hard since middle school.

“Huh?” Liam’s expression is confused as though he isn’t sure if Zayn is still taking the time to decline the offer or if this is Zayn telling him to wait, hold on, he’s got everything all wrong.

Liam’s hoping it’s the latter because he isn’t sure he could survive the embarrassment of the first.

“I uh… I want to?” Zayn tells him. “Go out. On a date. With you.”

It’s all stupid and cliché and so very junior high the way Liam’s smile takes over his whole face and Zayn is still blushing and looking down at his shoes like he’s ten-years-old and Liam has just given him his very first kiss. But it kind of fits and Zayn can’t help but to think that he likes the butterflies in his stomach and the feeling of something new. It’s so different from the warm feeling Zayn gets when Harry smiles at him or when some random from a bar’s eyes rake over his body. It’s sickeningly sweet in the best way and Zayn finds himself aching for more.

“Good,” Liam says and he’s stepping forward, reaching out and lacing his fingers with Zayn’s and Zayn can’t help but to love the way they fit.

\--

“What did you want to do when you were little?”

Zayn shrugs his shoulders, picks a few blades of grass from the ground before tossing them to the side. His arms are beginning to itch because he and Liam have been lying at the top of this hill in the park for so long, but Zayn can’t really bring himself to care all that much. It’s nice being outside when the sun is setting and the city is starting to simultaneously wake up and settle down. It’s nice having nothing and everything to do and a boy who wants to do it with him.

“Come on…” Liam says. “Did you wanna be a fireman or a doctor or a… a superhero?” He’s grinning as he reaches out to shove Zayn lightly in the shoulder.

Zayn grins back and shrugs his shoulders again. “I... I don’t know. I never thought about it much. Mostly, I think I just wanted to be like my dad.”

“You wanted to be your dad when you grew up?”

Zayn bites his lip, chances a glance at Liam who is looking at him as though he’s just told him the moon was made of cheese.

“Kind of. I mean, he was a good guy and I looked up to him and it seemed like everyone else did too. And it just… I didn’t know what he did for a living, but it all looked so important and people thought he mattered and I… I guess I just wanted that too.”

“And there I was wishing I could be Batman,” Liam says with a laugh.

Zayn snorts. “You’re nowhere near clever or stealthy enough to be Bruce Wayne.”

Liam raises his brows. “Really? You don’t think I could be Batman? Outsmart the Joker? Defeat the little penguin dude?”

Zayn shakes his head. “No. Not really, no.”

“Why not?”

Zayn sits up, leaning back on his elbows. “Batman… he’s sneaky and clever and you… you have your strong points, but you couldn’t even manage subtlety when you were thinking of asking me out.”

Liam scoffs, side-eyeing Zayn as he runs a hand over his hair. Zayn can tell he isn’t really angry so much as he is frustrated that Zayn doesn’t believe him to be on the same level as Bruce Wayne. “Well I… I got you to say yes, didn’t I?” He asks. “And besides, that whole obvious flirting and not being subtle thing could have been my plan all along to make you think I was charming or, you know, endearing or something.”

Zayn smiles knowingly and shakes his head, patting Liam’s knee before falling back into the grass. Liam is still trying to defend himself, but Zayn sort of tunes him out allowing the sound of Liam’s voice to fill his ears but not really picking up on what he’s saying. The tone and easy, lighthearted nature of Liam’s words is sort of soothing and grounding and Zayn isn’t sure how he’d gone so long without hearing it. He isn’t sure how he’d gone so long without being around someone like Liam.

Cracking an eye open, Zayn looks at where Liam who is saying something about Bruce being a tortured soul and how, while Liam’s life may not have been as tragic, he can relate to him. Liam is cute and sexy and kind and mysterious and he seems to understand Zayn in a way most people don’t so early on in meeting someone. It’s kind of scary how easily Liam can pick up on when Zayn is sad or frustrated or confused and Zayn wonders if it’s a sign. He’d never really believed in meeting someone who completes you or soul mates or fate, but looking at Liam Zayn can kind of see it. It may not be written in the stars, but it’s something Zayn is beginning to think that he wants.

“Are you even listening to me?” Liam asks.

Zayn shakes his head. “Not a word.”

Liam frowns. “Rude…”

“Well I didn’t think it mattered because I don’t wanna be with Batman… I’d rather have you.”

Liam smiles something small and fond, crawling the short distance separating the pair in the grass. He moves to straddle Zayn’s hips, leaning forward and placing his forearms on either side of Zayn’s upper body. “Really?” He asks.

Zayn nods. “Really.”

“Well… I wouldn’t mind if you still wanted to be your dad if you’d let me be your mom.”

Zayn wrinkles his nose at that, furrowing his brow. “Gross. Why would you wanna do that?”

Liam chuckles, presses a kiss to where Zayn’s collarbone is peeking out from the neckline of his T-shirt. He moves up, dragging his lips along the curve of Zayn’s jaw until he reaches Zayn’s mouth, slotting their lips together in something languid and sweet that Zayn has only ever experienced with Liam.

“Because,” Liam answers. “If you were your dad and I was your mom, I’d get to take the suit off when you got home.”

Zayn laughs because Liam would say something cheeky and stupid like that. “You’ve hardly managed to get my pants off, Liam,” He says. “What makes you think you could handle a suit?”

Liam sits up on Zayn’s lap and toys with the hem of his shirt, his eyes trained on the newly exposed strip of Zayn’s skin and the thin trail of hair leading into the waistband of his jeans. When their eyes meet again, Liam’s palm is splayed flat over Zayn’s belly button beneath the thin cotton of his shirt. The contact feels warm but it also makes Zayn shiver and he mostly just wants now. He wants Liam, and all of him, but Zayn is also too afraid to just ask.

“We’re working up to that,” Liam tells him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zayn asks breathlessly as Liam’s hand slides up his chest, his fingers dragging over his left nipple on the way down.

“Means I’m taking my time.”

And Zayn doesn’t get it. He doesn’t see the point because he’s here and Liam’s here and it’s no secret that they both want to tear the other’s clothes off. Zayn doesn’t see the point in waiting when they both can get what they want right now and move on with their lives. Zayn doesn’t see the point in drawing it out and torturing themselves with this insane itch to get off.

“But why?” Zayn asks, impatiently. “Why take your time when you can just get them off now?”

When Liam sits up again, the teasing nature to his voice is gone as he tilts his head to the side. His expression is fond but it’s also a little bit sad; like just looking at Zayn he can tell that something is broken inside and his only real goal in life right now is to try and fix it.

“Because,” Liam tells him, reaching out to brush his fingers briefly through Zayn’s hair. “Why rush things when I have all the time in the world?”

\--

“It’s been months,” Harry says.

“Months?” Zayn inquires, looking up from the wedding magazine Gemma had left behind on the coffee table in Harry’s sitting room. He’s feeling silly and little giddy looking at all of the dresses, subconsciously thinking about Liam and what it could possibly be like to see a ring on his left finger. It’s only been three weeks, but Zayn can’t help but to think this is something different. Something that could actually last longer than a few dates and more than a few heated make out sessions in the backseat of Zayn’s car. “Of what?”

“Of nothing, that’s what,” Harry tells him from where he’s lying on the floor not too far from Zayn’s feet. He lolls his head to the side. “It’s been four months of absolutely nothing.”

Zayn shakes his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Harry sighs as though it should have been obvious. “ _Niall._ ”

“What about him?”

“Nothing!” Harry repeats, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. We go out, I’m nice to him and I hold his hand and laugh at his jokes. We can talk forever and like… I don’t know. He seems pretty into it when we’re making out and stuff and then I go to make a move on him and suddenly he’s acting like I’ve just unzipped my pants and shoved my dick in his face.”

Zayn laughs, closing the magazine and tossing it back onto the table. “What? So he doesn’t wanna fuck you?”

Harry shakes his head, scoffs as though Zayn has just told him the sky was purple and the sun revolved around the moon. “No. Of course he does.”

“Then what?”

“He wants to,” Harry tells him. “He just won’t. Because I’m… what did he say? Afraid of commitment or some stupid shit like that. He wants _monogamy_.”

Harry barks out a quick breath of laughter, falling back to the floor. Zayn starts to laugh along with him because the idea does seem a bit ridiculous, but then he thinks of Liam. It’s been a little over three weeks and Zayn hasn’t slept with him either. He hasn’t slept with anyone in the past fifteen days and Zayn begins to wonder if there’s anything wrong with that; if there’s something wrong with him.

“It’s so dumb,” Harry says. “I mean, isn’t what we have enough? I like him, he likes me; things are simple. I don’t see why it needs to be anything more than that.”

“Maybe,” Zayn starts, thinks about the way Liam had smiled and kissed him goodnight when Zayn had dropped him off back at his house after dinner that past Wednesday. “Niall just wants to feel special. Like he matters.”

It feels kind of silly when he says it out loud, when Zayn hears the words in his own voice, but he can’t help but to sort of understand where Niall is coming from. Why Niall would want more. Because Zayn hasn’t slept with Liam yet either, but he wants to. He wants to know Liam’s body, aches to discover what Liam sounds like when he’s teetering on the edge of euphoria. Zayn wants to know what that’s like, but he also wants to know what Liam looks like the morning after when his eyes crack open and he has morning breath and his voice is still filled with sleep.

“Niall knows he matters,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “I mean, I wouldn’t be wasting so much time on him if he didn’t. Sex is sex, Zayn. It doesn’t need to mean anything. It is what it is: a way to get off and feel good. I mean, we fuck all the time and you know I also fuck other people all the time and none of it means shit, but you also still know that I care about you, right?”

Zayn shrugs his shoulders and nods, but avoids Harry’s eyes. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Right. So why can’t Niall be like you and realize the same thing? I mean, even Louis, as dense as he is, realizes that some people just need to have sex. And while I think their relationship is a fucking joke, I guess Louis cares about Ellie on some level and I know that she knows he’s fucking the whole damn city and it’s not like she’s not bitching about monogamy.”

“That’s different,” Zayn says, shaking his head. “I mean… Louis is… he’s Louis. And Ellie knew what she was getting into when she hooked up with him. Besides, it’s not like they love each other anyways, so it doesn’t even matter. Niall is… he’s a sweet kid with ideals and shit, Harry. He wants things. He’s nice.”

Harry sighs and this time it’s kind of sad and like he’s done with the entire situation. “Well, maybe that’s where guys like us and guys like him differ,” he says. “Maybe that’s why you and I work so well together. We both know that all that fairytale junk never happens. Nobody is that special. People are people. Sex is sex.”

But that’s the thing though. Zayn doesn’t dare say so out loud because he knows Harry will probably just laugh at him and call him stupid or silly, but he’s not so sure he wants to be “guys like us”. Zayn thinks he’s growing tired of living the way he does and acting the way he has been. He’d never really seen the appeal of all the things Niall wants and believes in before because he’d always been content with fucking around with Harry and whoever else was available at the time. It never mattered because sex was, as Harry had explained, a matter of convenience and whoever was closest enough to give Zayn what he wanted. But Zayn is also beginning to think that maybe none of that happily ever after bullshit never seemed to matter because he hadn’t found the right person. Maybe nobody had ever mattered enough to want to wait, to make Zayn want to actually feel something when he was that close to another human being. Liam makes Zayn want to feel more than just a tight heat around his dick and a warm body hovering over his own. He wants to know his heart and his soul, Zayn wants to learn his favorite color and the things that keep Liam up at night. As stupid as it sounds, Zayn kind of wants that fairytale junk that Harry says will never happen.

“Some people are special though,” he tries, looking down at his hands. “I mean, my parents have been together for twenty-five years.”

Harry scoffs. “Yeah and they sleep in different beds and everyone knows your dad is fucking his secretary.”

Zayn presses his lips together and frowns. He feels stupid all of the sudden thinking that maybe whatever he has with Liam was different because his father had looked at his mother the same way Liam looks at him and look at where they ended up. Zayn assumes they’re happy enough, but he knows it’s nothing like the way it was when he was a kid when his father would come home and leave his briefcase by the front door in favor of spending the evening with his wife drinking wine and dancing to old Sinatra records.

Things changed. There was a shift in the plates and Zayn’s mother wasn’t all that special anymore and neither was his father.

They were just people.

And Zayn thinks it doesn’t matter if he wants that fairytale ending or not because maybe there really are “guys like us” and “guys like them”; people like Zayn and people like Niall. And Zayn can try and tip the scales, change the rules and bend things to his favor, but he’s always going to be that guy. He’s always going to be “guys like us” – guys like his father – who put on masks and trick nice people like his mother (people like Liam or Niall ) only to turn around and fuck their secretaries or whatever hot piece of ass who is willing to hand it out.

Zayn thinks it doesn’t matter because it is what it is, he is what he is, and that’s all there is to it.

As though he can sense Zayn’s discomfort, Harry sits up a bit, resting his weight on his forearms. “Hey,” he says. “I didn’t mean what I said about your parents in a bad way. You know that, right? I mean, my parents are doing the same thing.”

Zayn can hear the bitterness in Harry’s voice at the mention of his own parents but decides not to comment on it. “I know.”

“And besides. If anything it makes us better people. We see things for what they are and we accept them, you know? Use them for our benefit. If Niall wants all that fairytale bullshit, he’s just going to wind up getting hurt when whoever he ends up with ends up leaving him for someone else. People are fickle, Zayn,” Harry says, his voice growing thick. He’s not really looking at Zayn anymore and he can tell there’s more to it than Harry is really saying. “They’re fickle and you can’t trust them so you may as well accept things as they are and do what you can. Be happy the best way you can and if Niall can’t understand that then… I don’t know.”

There’s a shift in the room, everything feeling heavy and intense. Harry is staring off into space looking as though he’s fighting the urge to cry and Zayn wants to climb down from the couch and hug him, but one look at his friend and he knows that would probably be too much.

As if on cue, Zayn’s phone vibrates with the notification of a new text message, the screen lighting up to reveal a picture Zayn had taken of Liam smiling and standing in front of the Ferris wheel at the pier that previous weekend. Zayn takes a moment to stare at the picture, his chest growing uncomfortably tight upon how happy Liam had been that day and how quickly all of that could change before he tosses his phone to the side and sinks back into the couch.

\--

Louis is a quarter past tipsy and doing body shots off a hot blond with fake tits and a tattoo of a butterfly on her lower back. Harry can’t stop laughing because Louis really doesn’t like the salt and makes a face every time it hits his tongue.

“God, he’s so fucking stupid,” Harry says, shaking his head in a fond sort of way Zayn can’t quite place.

“You say that like you like him,” Zayn replies.

Harry shoots Zayn a look, scoffs, and finishes off his drink. “No,” he says, swallowing. “Come on, Zayn, really? Louis is amusing. Nothing more and nothing less.”

“I’m just saying,” Zayn tells him. “You were looking at him like you liked him; like you don’t hate him as much as you like to make people think.”

Harry shrugs. “So I don’t hate the kid. Is there something wrong with that? I don’t hate him so now I wanna fuck him is that what you’re saying?”

Zayn knows Harry isn’t angry; he’s just talking, but when Zayn turns to grab his drink he sees Liam eyeing Harry like he’s starting to get a little out of line and Zayn can’t help but to chuckle a little into his glass. “No,” Zayn responds. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m just saying that you’re a little more transparent than you like to think.”

“Whatever,” Harry sighs, pushing himself out of his seat. “I’m gonna go get another drink and then I might call Niall or something. All this talk about fucking is making me horny.”

Zayn shakes his head, watching Harry go with a similar fondness to that of the expression he’d given Louis when he’d scrunched his nose up at the taste of salt. He can feel Liam’s arm, warm and heavy around his shoulders and turns to look at him.

“You’re quiet,” he says.

Liam shrugs. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

Another shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t know… you and Harry I guess. You guys are so different.”

“I don’t know…” Zayn tells him. “Harry is just more… open, I guess.”

Liam removes his arm from Zayn’s shoulders and turns in his seat to get a better look at him. “Not even two minutes ago he was talking about calling that poor Niall kid up just so he could fuck him. You’re telling me you’re no different from that?”

Zayn rolls his eyes, smiling and shaking his head. “Well, firstly, Harry probably won’t have sex with Niall, but that’s just because Niall won’t have sex with Harry until he finally decides to settle down and date him – which Harry probably won’t ever do. He’ll probably just get Niall to jerk him off or something. I don’t know, that’s his business. Second, I don’t see why it matters if I’m anything different from Harry or if we’re the same person. Just because he wants to fuck someone doesn’t make him a bad person. It’s just sex.”

It’s the way Zayn says it so casually, like it doesn’t even matter, that bothers Liam and makes his voice sound a little smaller than usual. “Is that what this is then?” He asks, gesturing around the space separating his and Zayn’s bodies. “Just sex?”

“We haven’t even _had_ sex, Liam,” Zayn reminds him. “So no.”

“But if we did,” Liam clarifies, his voice serious. “Would it mean anything? Would you care?”

Zayn sighs, runs a hand through his hair because he didn’t really want to get into this. Not here; not tonight. He’d just wanted to go out and have fun; maybe dance a little too close with Liam and fool around in the back seat of his car. He wasn’t asking for serious conversations about sex and it where they stood and what all of that meant. As far as Zayn was concerned, it didn’t matter anymore; he and Liam didn’t have to stand anywhere. He just wanted them to be what they were and not need to define it in the same way he did with Harry. There was still the odd moment when Zayn would catch Liam staring and he’d feel those butterflies in his stomach he’d been trying to suppress and sometimes he’d find himself lying in bed and not liking that his sheets didn’t smell like Liam’s or he’d feel the phantom press of lips to the back of his neck and he’d long, not just for any body, but Liam’s body aligned perfectly against his own. But none of that really mattered because none of that was real, none of those things really happened for people like him. Zayn didn’t live in fairytales with happily ever afters like Niall and Liam; he lived in the real world where people were fickle and unreliable and you were better off alone.

“It’s just sex, Liam,” Zayn answers plainly. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. I mean, me and Harry fuck all the time and it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just another way to feel good…”

Liam scoffs, shakes his head and mumbles. “Fucking Harry… you can do so much better than Harry.”

And Zayn sort of just snaps. “Like you know,” he says. “Like you know me so well to say who and what I deserve.”

When Liam looks back at Zayn his eyes are wide and surprised. “Well, yeah,” he answers. “I’d like to think I do. I mean, Harry doesn’t seem to know who or what he wants. He just fucks with people when he feels like it’s convenient and goes through life pretending like everything is okay, pretending like he doesn’t care that he’s essentially alone. Harry uses people to make himself feel better and he’s selfish. He’s using you and you just fucking let him. He sits around and pretends like it’s just sex, that it doesn’t mean anything, but it fucking does. Even if it’s not love, it means _something._ I’d like to think I know you well enough to say you’re not like that; that you deserve something better.”

Zayn’s face is set and unreadable, but his voice is small when he says “He doesn’t use me, Liam. We’re… we just are.”

But he’s right and Zayn knows it. Liam is fucking right and Zayn doesn’t want to admit it. He knows exactly how Harry is and how he uses people. He looks at Harry and knows how alone he feels all the time and that Zayn, for the most part, is always just there. He’s always there and Harry just takes and takes and takes and Zayn lets him. Zayn lets him because he feels just as alone and somehow Harry being there makes it a little more bearable.

And maybe Zayn is using him too. And when he really thinks about it, he and Harry really aren’t that different at all.

“But you don’t have to be and you know it. You’re not Harry, Zayn. You may act like it, but you’re not.”

Zayn turns his head and he wants to cry because he hates being so transparent. He hates that Liam can look at him and see. Liam can see that Zayn wants to be someone like Niall who has morals and convictions and dreams. People who believe in something and decide they shouldn’t have to settle for less.

It’s just that Zayn has been living in that “guys like us” mentality for so long he doesn’t know anything better and meeting someone like Liam who wants to show him something better, give him something he never even thought existed is scary. Zayn knows all he has to do is say yes and Liam will be there, but Zayn also doesn’t know if he can trust himself to be there right back.

And maybe that’s where Liam is right in saying Zayn is different from Harry.

Zayn doesn’t want to be fickle like his father, for Liam to be sad and sleeping in the room down the hall like his mother.

“Yeah,” Zayn says with a sigh, slumps back into his seat and shrugs his shoulders before looking at Liam; sad and honest. “But I’m not you either.”

\--

They’re on set and Zayn is talking to the jack-in-the-box who is really Louis hiding behind a corner, shouting his lines from the hallway. Zayn isn’t really paying much attention to what he’s doing, just speaking his lines on autopilot and thinking about how George Whitaker had it all wrong.

As stupid as it sounds, Zayn thinks he was right to make friends with that jack-in-the-box. The jack-in-the-box would never hurt him or leave. It agreed with everything he said and never questioned him. The jack-in-the-box was safe and understanding in a way that people could never even wish to be. Sure, the conversation was essentially one sided and completely in George Whitaker’s head, but Zayn didn’t really see why that even mattered. George was happy and safe.

And Zayn thinks Liam has it all wrong. It’s not our value in inanimate objects that kill us, but people. Zayn knows he has Harry and (maybe) Liam and his family, but look where they are, look at what they’ve done to him. Zayn doesn’t trust, he doesn’t love, he doesn’t understand. George chose love (but, as Harry so plainly put it, love is fickle. People are fickle) and that killed him in the end.

Liam has it all wrong, Zayn thinks, as he delivers another line on autopilot. It’s not our devotion to objects that kills us, but people. It’s placing value in something so uncertain and unpredictable. It’s not safe or smart; it’s destructive.

Liam has it all wrong, Zayn thinks.

No one is better off together; you’re better off alone.

\--

Zayn has his feet propped up on the dash, one arm hanging out the window with a half-finished cigarette dangling between his fingers while Niall sits quietly in the backseat. Harry had said he was just going inside to change his jacket ( _“I’ll only be a minute, I swear” and Zayn had called bullshit right then and there)_ but it’s been almost fifteen minutes and Zayn is fucking starving.

“I don’t know how you put up with him,” Zayn mumbles, flicking the cigarette from his fingers before leaning over the window to watch it fall to Harry’s driveway.

“Put up with him?” Niall asks dumbly.

“Yeah,” Zayn says simply. “I mean, Harry’s my friend and I love him, but like… he fucks around with you and shit and he’s not all that nice and you still stick around. You’re a nice guy and Harry is just...” Zayn thinks about what Liam had said to him that night at the pub and sighs. “You could do so much better.”

When Zayn looks at Niall through the rearview mirror he can see where he’s looking up toward Harry’s bedroom window, probably thinking about Harry mulling over the different jackets he has hanging up in his closet and wondering whether or not he should change his boots as well.

“I don’t know,” Niall says. “I like him. I know he’s an asshole and that I’m not the only one but… I like him, you know? And I think he likes me too, and not in that ‘I only wanna fuck you’ sort of way. I think he really does like me only he’s too afraid to admit it. But he will. One day, he will.”

Zayn doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand why Niall puts up with it and lets Harry walk all over him because it’s not like Niall deserves it. He isn’t like Zayn who grew up around things like that, around people who used him and let him use them in return. He still thought Niall’s idea of a happily ever after was just shy of being complete and total bullshit, but that didn’t stop Zayn from believing that Niall could get a little closer with someone who wasn’t Harry styles.

“Aren’t you afraid?” Zayn asks him. “Of getting hurt? Of him just deciding that you’re not worth his time anymore and walking away?”

Niall takes a moment to think about the question and then Harry is pushing the front door to his house open and a smile rushes onto Niall’s face. Zayn looks from him to Harry, sees the same expression on Harry’s face and it’s so… it’s not like anything he’s seen on his best friend. It’s as though Harry is a completely different person and he’s happy and bright and it’s all because of this one person sitting in the backseat of his car.

Harry looked at Niall the way Liam had looked at him.

He looked the way Zayn had felt.

It’s a crack in the wall Harry has so skillfully mastered at keeping up – a wall Zayn knows all too well – and he sort of gets it. It’s a matter of trust and letting people in even when you’re afraid and unsure of what could happen once you do. Zayn thinks back to that night in Harry’s living room when he’d been on the verge of tears and knows Harry may not be quite there with Niall, but Zayn can take one look at him and tell that he wants to be; that he’s trying even though he probably has no idea where to begin.

Zayn looks at Harry and thinks that if he can try, as erratic and selfish and guarded as he is, that maybe Zayn can try as well too.

And Niall shakes his head, the smile never leaving his face even after Harry unlocks the door and climbs into the driver’s seat.

“No,” he answered. “Never for a second.”

\--

It’s the last day on set a few minutes after they’ve filmed the last scene where the jack-in-the-box kills George and his girlfriend and Liam is packing up his things, purposefully ignoring the fact that Zayn is awkwardly hanging around in the hopes of getting a chance to talk to him.

They haven’t spoken much since the night at the bar and, when they did, things were tense and uncomfortable; like they were forcing the conversation and hoping that things would magically fall into place. At first, Zayn figured it was a good thing. This was his way out and he would be able to go back to not caring and fucking around; doing whatever he wanted and not having to worry about feelings or consequences.

But then there was Niall and Harry and missing the way Liam’s fingers felt weaving themselves in and out of his hair.

When Liam has all of his things in his backpack, he slings it over his shoulders and makes brief eye contact with Zayn before starting toward the door to the apartment.

“I’ll see you around,” he says as he walks past Zayn. “Thanks.”

Liam has his hand on the doorknob when Zayn takes in a deep breath, exhales, and says “You don’t know me.”

Liam pauses and turns around with knitted brows, his lips pressed in a thin line. “What?”

“You don’t know me,” Zayn repeats, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks down at his shoes. “You don’t know where I come from or how I really feel about things. You don’t know my parents or how they don’t really love each other anymore. I never told you about how I grew up with nannies or that Harry is the only real friend I’ve ever really had. You don’t know what I want out of life or what I’m really afraid of or my favorite song or that sometimes I fuck people just to remind myself that I’m capable of actually feeling something for another person even if it doesn’t really mean anything. You also don’t know that I really actually do like you – a lot – and that scares the shit out of me.”

When Zayn chances a glance at Liam, he’s wearing this sad mixture of confusion and hurt and hopefulness that Zayn can’t really place.

“You don’t know me, Liam,” he says. “You only know what I’ve told you and… and I don’t think I really know you either because I don’t think I ever really wanted to.”

Liam’s bag falls from his shoulder. His eyes are going glossy like he wants to cry, but Zayn can take one look at his face and tell that Liam isn’t entirely sad so much as he is entirely angry.

“Then why’d you waste my time?” He asks. “You led me on and made me think you actually wanted something when all you wanted was to... to what? It’s not like we were fucking Zayn. What was it? You wanted to string me along because you liked the attention?”

Zayn drags a hand over his face and shakes his head. He wants to sink into the floor or somehow fade and mix in with the stark white of the walls because this is all coming out so wrong.

“No,” Zayn chokes out. “No. I just – I don’t know what I’m doing, Liam. I have no idea. I like you. I want things with you. I wanna… I wanna hold your fucking hand, you know? I wanna be able to, like, make you smile and shit. I also wanna fuck you, but that’s not even the point. It scares me how much I like you because… I mess up. All the time. I don’t know how to make someone happy and I get bored and I don’t wanna end up like my parents. I don’t want to do that to you because I like you too much.”

Zayn hates how he’s crying now and that Liam is looking at him like he’s some kind of lost puppy; like he’s something that needs to be coddled and cared for. But he also sort of likes it knowing that Liam still cares and that he doesn’t hate him.

“Maybe I don’t know you,” Liam tells him. “But I – I wanted to. I still do and I know you’re kinda messed up, I knew that from the moment I met you, but I also know that we’re all a little fucked in our own way. I mean, I put my foot in my mouth and I don’t have a real job and I have no idea what I’m doing with my life. I also snore sometimes and I always forget to turn off the stove whenever I use it which is really bad because I could probably burn my apartment to the ground.”

Zayn laughs and it sounds wet with all the crying, but he can’t bring himself to care when Liam is giving him that soft smile that Zayn thinks means that he really cares and is reaching forward to wipe the water from his eyes.

“You’re not your dad or Harry or whoever else you’ve been comparing yourself to,” Liam says. “And we don’t have to be your parents or anyone else you’ve been thinking we could turn into. We can just be us and see where that goes.”

Liam is smiling when he offers his hand and Zayn can’t help but to smile back when he takes it.

Zayn had kind of expected it to feel like the walls were crumbing down; like the shield he’d spent so much time surrounding himself with would suddenly fall down and all that would be left was his naked self, exposed and vulnerable, and Liam.

But it’s actually not like that at all. He can still feel it there, the wall he’d been building around himself, standing strong and tall in front of him. The difference is that he can see the tiny cracks and crevices in it. There are weak spots and vulnerabilities and Liam is on the other side, sure and smiling and so very hopeful, and Zayn knows that over time those weak spots will get even weaker and one of these days his wall is going to topple over and Liam will still be there, waiting to step over to the other side.

And it’s nice. It’s comforting. And Zayn wants it.

“I want you to know me,” he says. “And I wanna know you, too.”

Liam nods, bending over to pick up his bag so he can sling it back over his shoulder. He nods toward the door. “Alright then. We can go to my place and get to know each other. I can even make us dinner.”

Zayn grins, not even bothering with cracking a joke about the double meaning to Liam’s words, and takes in the warmth and the strength of Liam’s hand holding tight onto his. He doesn’t feel the slightest bit of shame either when he leans over and presses his lips firmly against Liam’s because it feels as though it’s been ages and all Zayn really wants is to feel close. When they part, Zayn is still smiling something goofy and cheesy and he’s feeling hopeful; like he’s finally getting things right.

“I’d like that,” Zayn says. “And I’ll be sure to make sure you turn the stove off.” 


End file.
